


A beauty; A blessing; A curse; A wonder.

by akirakurosawa



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Feanor has a semi-speaking role, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing, aboundance of angst, brief appearances of Nolofinwe Arafinwe and Findekano, expect violence typical of battles but nothing TOO GRAPHIC, he takes credit for like one quote, in non speaking roles, more like metaphors, no beta we die like High Kings of Noldor, shameless use of hamilton lyrics to fit the writers narrative, some balrogs are there in non speaking roles also, this goes out for my sister whom i love more than anything in this life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akirakurosawa/pseuds/akirakurosawa
Summary: The final moment of Írimë Lalwendë in Valinor with her sister;and:The final moment of Lalwen Finwiel on the battlefield of Dagor Bragollach.(Or: She never feared fire.)
Relationships: Findis & Írimë | Lalwen, Írimë | Lalwen & Gundor son of Hador
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	A beauty; A blessing; A curse; A wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present to my sister, whom I love more than anything in this life. It's her birthday today, and due to the absolute shitstorm that we call "the world", I haven't seen her for over half a year, and have no idea when I will see her again. This made me SAD, so I decided to try and make everyone feel, well, something. 
> 
> I projected hard here. What you need to know of my HC's for this fic: 
> 
> \- Lalwen followed Fingolfin to Middle Earth and died defending his kingly rear in Dagor Bragollach, because she fears no fire and refuses to cower or run. We share that stubbornness, and honestly, it's a gift and a curse;  
> \- Lalwen was Feanor's favorite sibling (don't ask me how, she just insisted that was the case and I had to write it down, else she wouldn't cooperate);  
> \- I take liberties with how Elf-magic works;  
> \- I tried to get the Quenya and Sindarin right;  
> \- I only revised once so like, bugger off (I'm joking, honestly, if you catch some huge mistake, lemme know and Imma fix it);  
> \- I owe some of the inspiration to the fact that [Finwean Ladies Week](https://finweanladiesweek.tumblr.com/) will be running on tumblr in October, so if you're into that, check it out;  
> \- I LOVE MY SISTER MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THIS LIFE/I WOULD CHOOSE HER HAPPINESS OVER MINE EVERY TIME and I will fight anyone who tries to mess with her. 
> 
> I, uhm, hope you enjoy this?
> 
> Oh - title from my poem, that I wrote for my sister's birthday last year.

_**A beauty; A blessing; A curse; A wonder.** _

The demons and the beasts surrounded her from every side, as they were wont to do. Mindless, twisted caricatures of life that should be pitied, and yet she could not bring herself to pity them at all. Their darkness encompassed the battlefield, and the only solace she found was seeing the brief flashes of shining armor here and there, gold woven into braids and reflected from shields of her allies, swords and maces tempered with light, and a flash of silver or golden hair when the light of the stars hit her kinsmen at a right angle. Those were the only things that kept her going, that pushed her further, that relieved some of the ache she felt all over and made her raise her sword again and again and bear it down on the enemy over and over.

She had been fighting demons her whole life, metaphorically if not literally; she had wrestled with horrors in her own mind and horrors embodied in a physical form; but never had she fought them in such a high number, and never with such conviction that she would not survive to see another dawn rise and color the sky with hope. Never before was she certain that Doom was finally upon her also, as it was embedded into all those of her bloodline. Never before had she encountered a battle that she thought she would _lose._

She would fight, oh how she would fight, up until her _hröa_ could not make a single move anymore and up until her _fëa_ was devastated and spent. She would fight until her breath was no more, until her eyes were unseeing, until the moment she could not fight anymore.

But she knew she would not win. She _could_ not win, for there were just too many _Yrch_ to slaughter, too many beasts to count, too many demons to slay, too many abominations to send to the Void and cast into Nothingness. Her muscles were tired and her vision was blurring and she still swung her sword, she still struck and screamed and decapitated and was covered with blood and gore, and she had never felt more alive, nor more afraid, nor more at peace.

~

_“You cannot do this.”_

_Findis’ voice was not more than a whisper resonating in the vastness of the room. Lalwendë knew this was going to be a difficult conversation. They have been slowly drifting apart over the years, and she could not, no matter how much she wished to, put the blame solely on her sister’s shoulders. She was equally, if not even predominantly, to blame for the slow deterioration of their bond._

_“Findis…”_

_She tried to say something more, but the words that she was about to speak would only hurt them both. This was exactly the reason why she avoided speaking to Findis about any matter, but mostly about matters of importance._

_They did not understand each other, and she knew not how to change that._

_“You cannot do this,_ nettë _. You cannot do this to me.”_

_She knew also that by now, it was too late to even try._

_“You know I am going away. You know I have to. And nothing you say could ever change that.”_

~

She turned and with a devastating shriek drove her blade into two _Yrch_ one after the other, and then viciously pulled her sword out of them. Long ago had she lost any sense of propriety, for what need does she have of propriety when her hands were bloodied, and her hair was matted with gore and viscera, and her armor was no longer shining under the evidence of the bloodshed? The only emotion to be seen in her eyes and on her face was the bloodthirstiness and resignation in knowledge that she needed to slay as many beasts as she could, for otherwise she, and everyone around her would be doomed.

Not that there was much hope left anyway.

Everything hurt, everything _inside_ _her_ hurt, but she would not stop. She would not stop until there was not another scrap of force within her. She would not stop until her brother and her nephew were finally safe. She would not stop until her heart was no longer beating.

She would not fail her family ever again.

~

_“You know I have to,_ nésa. _You know who I am.”_

_Findis stared at her, her warm eyes shining with something Lalwendë did not want to see there, not ever. Something she knew only she could put into her sister’s eyes. She would revere in having the power to crush someone thusly, but not like this._

_Not her sister._

_Never her sister._

_“No. I do not think I do.” Findis said, and the hurt in that sentence was palpable in the room._

_Lalwendë felt awful, and sad, and angry, oh so_ angry _, because why could Findis not_ listen _for once in her life? Why could she not hear what Lalwendë tried to tell her over and over throughout the ages? Why would she not_ think _on what she tried to explain so many times in so many different ways?_

_“Yes, you do. I am your mirror and your opposite and the same as you, except when I am not.”_

_She knew her tone was harsh, and she regretted it almost instantly, but some part of her refused to take it back._

_“I hate it when you speak thusly, Lalwendë. I can never understand what you mean.”_

_The frustration in Findis’ voice brought forth a pang of satisfaction, and then a wave of shame overcame Lalwendë. She cast her eyes downwards and tried not to wring her hands nervously._

_“I know.”_

~

The lightning coming from Ered Wethrin looming above them was a constant. She was so used to the flashes of light cutting through the battlefield, their sudden lack took her by surprise. She startled and almost lost her grip on the sword in the same moment the demon-beasts of the thrice-cursed Great Enemy released another, stronger and simultaneous bout of horrendous inferno in shapes of shadow-beasts. The heat was suddenly unbearable and the screams of those caught in it rose in a crescendo so awful, it felt as if they marred the Music itself.

Lalwen did not fear fire.

~

_“I looked forth,_ nésanya _. I looked forth into what awaits you, and I saw_ fire _.”_

_They sat on the opposite sides of the room, as they always did these days. A habit and a metaphor. The easy camaraderie of their youth had gotten lost somewhere along the way, and it hurt so much, not to be able to hug her sister spontaneously anymore. To not have to overthink every move that she made and weigh her words carefully and with intent always. To have to think all the time even in interactions with her sister, who should be a respite from Lalwendë having to contemplate and choose her words carefully and temper and manipulate everyone and everything in her daily life. To never be able to_ rest _._

_“Findis… You know I fear no fire. How can I fear what I am made of?”_

_Findis’ nostrils flared, a sure sign of anger and befuddlement both. It gave Lalwendë hope. Hope that not all was lost. Hope that her sister still cared for something other than Indis and Finwë. Hope that Findis cared for_ her.

_“Do not say that, not even in jest! How can you laugh? You know what fire does - you know what_ he _did! He who was born of fire and had renounced us all in all but name! You would follow him who was banished by the Valar and took our Father with him, and had with that doomed him to die? Him, who would not give up his precious jewels to help us, and coveted them greedily and disgustingly? You would follow that arrogant, contemptible - you would follow_ Fëanáro? _”_

_Her voice rose higher the longer she spoke, spewing words of vitriol like curses, and Lalwendë knew she was hurting, she knew her sister was afraid and worried and grieving._

_What she did not know anymore was how to help._

_“Oh Findis… you really understand nothing, do you?” Lalwendë whispered, hugging herself and wishing she was able to hug her sister. The weight of their broken relationship pressed upon her and bowed her spine mercilessly._

_“Do not condescend to me!”_

_Findis stood from the chair and yelled, and then, like she always did, she composed herself and sat down, letting the passion she had been speaking with drain from her all at once._

_Lalwendë felt the need to cry for the first time since she found out Finwë was dead._

~

The fire burned like the sun had burned, like a pain of a thousand tortured souls had burned, it burned immensely and constantly, but Lalwen was not scared.

Lalwen had survived the burning of the ice on Helcaraxë, and the ice would always terrify her more than anything else could. The coldness and the stillness were the real horror; heat and light were her forte. Her birthright. Her _fëa_ would never recoil from fire and all that it brought, and she preferred it that way.

Lalwen had survived the frost of her sister’s gaze; the iciness of her sister’s clipped words and bitten-off remarks; the briskness of phrases coming from her sister’s inability to understand the fundamental essence of who Lalwen was.

Fire was nothing in comparison.

~

_“I do not condescend, sister. And if I do, you must forgive me, for it is never my intention.”_

_Lalwendë wished Findis would get angry. She wished her sister would cry, and scream, and throw things, and just show that she_ cared _in a physical and understandable way, so she modified her tone so as to provoke that reaction. Any reaction._

_Anything but this resigned coldness._

_“It may not be your intention, but you wield your words like daggers, Lalwendë, all the while laughing at some secret knowledge that only you are privy to.”_

_This gave Lalwendë hope, because yes, that was exactly what she was doing, what she had been doing her whole life, what she enjoyed and taught herself to feel pleasure in, and she thought her sister may at least understand something of who she was. So she offered a concession of sorts._

_“Forgive me, I never want to hurt you.”_

Because _, Lalwendë thought_ , even if I hurt others, they do not matter, and I never wish to hurt those that do. _She lifted her head, hoping to see understanding in her sister’s eyes._

_Findis’ expression was resigned. Her words apathy._

_Lalwendë hated apathy more than she hated anything in the universe._

_“You hurting me is inevitable. But even worse, sister. You will always hurt yourself most.”_

_She felt furious and her hands shook, but she clamped down on them so that Findis would not see the half-moon indentations inevitable on her palms._ How could she not understand _, Lalwendë wanted to shout._ How could she not understand that I am never hurting myself when I hurt others who do not matter?

_“You think me so unhappy, that I would hurt myself for, what, a chance at some fun, or for laughs’ sake?”_

How can she not see that the only important thing is that I do not hurt _her?_

_“I think you are always searching for something that is far ahead and further beyond you, and you will_ never _find it. The journey to it, however, will destroy both you and everyone that cares for you.”_

_There was no hope for this conversation to ever go well, Lalwendë realized. There was no fire in Findis anymore, for it was all spent on grieving for their dead Father and hating the one she felt was responsible for that death, and Lalwendë knew not how to cope with her sister’s silent and bottomless grief. There was no chance of Findis ever understanding that Lalwendë needed to_ burn _to feel_ anything.

_“You understand nothing, Findis. You never did. You do not even try.”_

~

“You must go ahead, my Lady! You cannot stay here!”

She felt hands on her and instinctively gripped her sword tighter, but when she turned towards the voice, she saw it was only Gundor. His helmet was bloodied and dented on one side, and his eyes were glassy and terrified, but he held onto her tight as he pulled her further away from the site of the carnage and fire. The screams of Men and Elves alike burning in their armours surrounded them in a cacophony, but Lalwen could only hear them if she concentrated.

She wondered when had she become immune to the sounds of suffering. She wondered when had she become numb. She wondered how close her end was.

“No, Lord Gundor,” she heard herself saying as she held onto him tightly. “You know I cannot do that. I pledged myself to fight with you.”

“My Lady, please!” His voice was very loud in her ear, rising above the havoc around them. “The King sent word for you to ride towards them - there are too many enemies and we cannot hold them off for much longer! You are to join him and the Prince now, while there is still a chance of passage!”

Gundor managed to drag her to where some high rocks lay and pulled her to the ground, taking cover behind them. All around them was mayhem, all around them their forces were dying, and she could both see and feel, when she met his eyes, the terror overtaking his whole being.

_He is so young_ , she thought, but she did not say it; it would be unfair and unkind, and she was capable of being both under the right circumstances. _We will all die here_ , she thought, and sent a final prayer for forgiveness to her dear brother.

“I would not abandon you nor your army, my Lord. I swore to fight with you until the end, and I shall do so until the moment my hand can no longer hold the sword.” Lalwen tried to make her voice calm, but she felt it break under exertion. She sat on the ground next to him and willed him to understand that her words were not mere platitudes; that her word was unbreakable; that her promise was an _oath_.

Gundor’s eyes widened at the power she must have unwittingly emitted, and he clutched her hand unthinkingly, his gauntlet digging into her skin; she could not begrudge him this small reassurance, even if it surprised her with its strength. He was a boy still, even by the standards of Men, much less to a _nís_ born under the Light of the Trees in Valinor. Much less to Írimë Finwiel, sister to Ñolofinwë, the High king of Ñoldor in Middle-Earth and Arafinwë, _probably_ the High King of Ñoldor in Valinor. Much less to Írimë Lalwendë, favorite sister to Curufinwë Fëanáro, because of whom this war was fought, who had followed her brothers into Exile and hence had lived through a hundred tragedies.

“But, you- you are the sister of King Fingolfin, my Lady! You must flee to security!” His lovely, dirty face was awash with incredulity and confusion, and she felt a smile gracing her expression suddenly.

He was a boy still, even compared to Írimë Lalwendë, younger sister of Findis Indisiel, firstborn daughter of House of Finwë, who only now understood that compared to her sister’s, her wisdom and convictions of old, that she once renounced everything for, were ripe to be called both misguided and infantile.

Lalwen understood now that war was a terrible thing. That the fire may not burn you out, but it will leave scars that would never fade away. That the burning of ice was a sister to the inferno of fire, and sisters would always both love and hurt each other immensely, for only sisters knew the parts of each other’s _fëa_ that had the potential for ultimate destruction.

Only sisters knew each other enough to be the same and the other in equal measure, even when they thought they did not understand.

Only sisters loved each other firmly enough to devastate. 

Lalwendë knew she would see her sister soon, and the smile that graced her face came easier than it did in many a century past.

“And you are a son of Hador the Lord of Dor-lómin, founder of the Third House of Edain. My life is no more precious than yours.”

The reverence that flooded his eyes filled Lalwen with a gentle warmth from within, so different from the harsh inferno blazing ever-closer to where they rested for a moment.

~

_“You understand nothing of politics, Findis.”_

_This was the objective truth, and both Findis and Lalwendë knew it as such. Findis’ nose scrunched and she was not fooled; she knew Lalwendë turned the conversation to politics because she wanted to make some point that evaded Findis, and to feel herself steadier in the conversation. Politics was, after all, Lalwendë’s forte._

_“Enlighten me then, little sister. Explain to me what you have parsed from the situation in that head of yours.”_

_Findis was a picture of mocking condescension, her face laid upon her hand and her expression derisive. No matter. If Lalwendë could only make her see, perhaps not all would be in vain._

_Perhaps she would spare her more hurt._

_“Think of it this way. What did our half-brother do that was so awful, it warranted a banishment? He expressed his dissatisfaction with the Valar. Since when is that a punishable offence? His words resulted from listening to Melkor, whom he would not even have the opportunity to listen to, were not the Valar blind to the evil of one of their own! Why did they release him from imprisonment?” Lalwendë asked as calmly as she could, knowing that any show of how_ much _she disagreed with this, frankly idiotic, decision of the Valar would not bring her any points in her sister’s eyes._

_“Because his sentencing was done, and he deceived them into thinking he were repentant.”_

_Findis answered calmly, almost mechanically. Lalwendë felt herself becoming furious once again, and she was unable to leave the derision out of her voice this time._

_“Why did they not monitor him further? Why did they naught to scrutinize the truth of his words? No, they released him into the world even after he had already once before Darkened whole of Arda and almost destroyed it, for such was his capacity for evil. No, they let him out and closed their eyes to any of his further deeds, and then blamed Fëanáro when he spoke what many of us were thinking. That is not justice,_ nésa _, not how I perceive it.”_

_She knew it was a miscalculation as soon as she said it. She knew, and would have bitten off her tongue if she could, but the words were already out there and she could not take them back._

_She knew how much Findis despised Fëanáro, and how much she blamed him for everything that has happened. She knew who Findis thought was the reason for Finwë’s… for their Father’s demise._

_“Fëanáro threatened Nolofinwë! He almost struck him! He took our Father with him into banishment and now_ atar _is_ dead! _How can you speak thusly?”_

_Nothing Lalwendë could say would change Findis’ mind. She had to try, though, because it was not fair, nor right, to lay blame for Finwë’s death at Fëanáro’s feet. Of other things he was guilty, and Lalwendë could not dispute them, but not for that._

_“Finwë made his choice, Findis. He_ chose _to go with_ Curufinwë _, for he loved him most of all his children.”_

_Findis’ eyes flared at the use of their brother’s_ ataressë _, but Lalwendë was not sorry. She wielded words like precise daggers, and sometimes the situation warranted a strike with the blunt handle instead of the blade._

_“That is not true!” Her sister said, but Lalwendë felt the lie in the exclamation. Findis never could lie well when she knew she were speaking fallacies._

_Lalwendë was suddenly very, very tired._

_“I am sorry,_ nésanya _. I wish I spoke untrue. But you know I would not lie to you about things like these. The sooner you accept it, the easier it would be to deal with the pain.”_

_She felt the icy change in the air and knew that whatever Findis said next would be awful and was designed to maim and to_ hurt _._

_“That is easy for you to say. He loved_ you _. For you are most like his precious_ Curufinwë _.”_

_The words cut through Lalwendë suddenly and left her breathless. She fought to keep her composure because, no matter how much she wished it were not so, if for nothing else than to spare her sister pain, she knew Findis was right. She knew what the biggest point of contention in their dysfunctional family was; she knew_ who _it was. And she knew, however much her sister hated it, that she resembled_ him _the most._

_Írimë Lalwendë and Curufinwë Fëanáro were too similar in too many ways for it to be anything but an issue._

_Their thoughts matched each other effortlessly; they understood situations and other Elves in the same way; they shared opinions and mannerisms both; and they both burned with yearning for something else. For something_ more _._

_Írimë Lalwendë was the only one Curufinwë Fëanáro did not call “half-sibling”, and this fact brought her a deep feeling of satisfaction that she tried to suppress whenever it came up. She was pretty certain she did not succeed, because her happiness at being deemed_ special _by their oldest brother was always evident in her expression._

_And all of this was widely known and deeply resented by all her other siblings, but by none more than by Findis. Lalwendë knew this, also, and she thought she understood why her sister’s resentment ran so deep, even if her sister perhaps did not._

_Fëanáro_ understood _Lalwendë. Findis did_ not _. And that made all the difference._

_“That is unfair, Findis.” Lalwendë said, trying to diffuse the tension. The conversation turned ugly and even more personal, as it always did when it came to the topic of their brother, and she wanted to salvage whatever could be salvaged from it._

_The problem was that Lalwendë was no fool. She had known for a long time now that somewhere along the way, she lost the knowledge of how to speak with her sister. There was a chasm between them, and no bridge was in sight. Not even a rope, to fling herself over with it and meet her sister on the other side._

_“Is it? Unlike you, I do not lie.”_

_She lost her. She knew she lost her, and it hurt so much and so deeply, in a way that not even the death of their Father hurt, for he was dead and not there anymore, and her sister was alive and well and sitting across from her and yet despite that, Lalwendë felt as if her sister was gone more irrevocably and more definitely than Finwë._

_So she tried to retain at least some semblance of pride, even as she felt her heart tear in two._

_“No. You just refuse to_ think _.”_

~

“Do you think we will win, my Lady?”

Gundor’s eyes were pleading at her, and his hand was holding hers with such desperation, that she saw no other way but to smile at him with her best courtier’s smile and force a tenderness she did not possess into both her expression and her tone.

“We will live to see triumph, Gundor son of Hador. We will live, and we will win.”

Gundor’s face cleared with boyish joy and he nodded at her, filled with newfound determination. He stood up and pulled her from the ground with him, releasing her bruised hand at last. He held his sword with conviction, and his face was full of perseverance and hope.

Lalwen’s heart broke cleanly in two for this mortal boy who held her hand and tried to make her leave and protect her, and would probably be dead before the dawn came.

“Then once more into the fray, my Lady.” He smiled shyly but resolutely, and she laughed.

“Call me Lalwen,” she heard herself saying. He fumbled for a moment, confused, but then a bark of laughter escaped him.

“Lalwen,” he said, and he was so young and so regal in that moment, she had to laugh, because the other option was to break into a wail for the fate that imminently awaited them both. “A laughing maiden. Fitting,” he grinned at her.

She could feel her spine straightening and her _hröa_ filling with a final burst of strength, her sword an extension of her will, unbroken and unbending, as they nodded to each other and turned towards the battlefield of innumerable monstrosities.

They were both still laughing as they ran.

~

_“What is there to think about anymore, sister-dear? You are leaving, following that brother of yours and contributing to breaking our Mother’s heart. As if she has not had enough heartache to last her for eternity, now you will leave alongside Ñolo and, surprisingly, Ingo, both? Think you not of anyone but yourself, Írimë?”_

_Findis’ words were cold and spoken grimly, and oh, how many times has she heard that argument? ‘Do you think of anyone else when you do these things, Írimë? Why are you so thoughtless, Írimë? Have you no love for any of_ us _, Írimë?’_

_‘How could you be so_ selfish _, Írimë?’_

_She hated that. She hated being called Írimë and she hated being called selfish, she hated that it was an issue that she liked her comfort, she hated that it was objectionable that she put herself first, that she pursued her own goals and her own happiness above what was expected from her._

_She hated that she knew she would not, no matter what, sacrifice everything for her family._

_She hated that she was not more selfless._

_She hated that she was not more resembling her sister._

_“You know my mind is made up, Findis, and I in turn know how biased you are towards Fëanáro. I have had my share of quarrels with him, and I do not agree with some of his choices, but I believe he is right in this. We must go, and our brothers agree with me. You are the only one who refuses to see reason.”_

_Lalwendë tried, for a final time, to make her sister understand. She knew Findis would never join them, but if she could understand, perhaps…_

_“You are all fools, Írimë, this I knew from the moment you all were old enough to comprehend the world around you. But elaborate, please, on where do you_ actually _think you are going?”_

_No. No, it was but a fool’s hope. Findis would never understand. She could not, for why would she? She never felt the call of the shores and the craving for distant lands and the ache of wanderlust. Lalwendë knew this, but she would say her piece. Perhaps, after a few centuries, Findis would finally comprehend._

_“We must away from this place,_ nésa _._ I _must away from this place, for it is not enough for me. There is nothing inspiring here anymore, especially now with the Trees destroyed. No beauty can I find in Valinor at this time, so I must reach further and find it in another place, or else this life would not be worth living. We must all go further; we must explore and we must not be afraid. The whole world awaits beyond the borders of Valinor, sister, and I_ need _to see it for myself!”_

_Lalwendë tried to put all her passion and her longing into her voice, to make her sister understand why she could not stay in Valinor, how there was nothing worth staying for anymore. She needed inspiration, she needed to go and find it, she needed to move from this stagnation. Her soul and her heart and her body all were restless, and were she to stay here, she would surely wither and fade away, and she would never resign herself to that._

It is better to burn out than to fade away, _Fëanaro once told her, and she agreed with him in theory then, but she only felt the truth of that now, and she could not, in her right mind, stay._

_“Why can you not be satisfied here? Why can this happy land not be enough for you? What else do you need? Your whole family is here, we are content, we lack nothing, and yet, you would go? You would follow that- that- I do not even know what to name him, but he is no brother of mine!”_

_And there went Findis again, stomping over Lalwendë’s reasons and focusing on what she thought was the culprit of all the unease. There she went again, with her assuming, and not thinking, and not_ listening _to what Lalwendë kept trying to explain._

_No more. Enough._

_Lalwendë knew her sister better than she knew her own mind sometimes. Lalwendë knew her sister’s fears and insecurities because Findis never learned to hide her thoughts and shield herself from showing emotions. Lalwendë loved her sister more than she loved herself, and she knew that hurting her in the short term would make it easier to come to terms with the fact that she was leaving in the long term. Lalwendë knew this would be better for Findis in the end, even if Findis did not._

_It was easier to be what they already thought her to be._

_Írimë knew exactly what to say._

_“There is nothing for me here anymore, Findis. Nothing that is here will ever be enough to keep me satisfied.”_

_The way Findis physically recoiled from her words, unable to control herself, brought vicious satisfaction to Lalwendë. She hated herself for being the cause of her sister’s growing distress, but what else was new? She hated herself always, but she knew she was doing the right thing, the_ only _thing she felt was right for her and her sister both._

_Findis stood up, and her hands were visibly shaking, and her lips were pulled in a tight line, and her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and Lalwendë knew she had broken them both finally and thoroughly. She felt no need to say anything more and allowed her eyes to cloud over with a derisive and haughty expression that she knew her sister hated and waited for Findis to leave._

_Her sister was a step through the door when she turned and pierced Lalwendë with a look that screamed sorrow and foreboding._

_“You know,” she said softly, and her voice was shaking, and Lalwendë almost ran to her, almost took it all back, almost caved to the urge to hug her sister once again like she did when they were but youths, careless and laughing and loving. “You are just like him. You will_ never _be satisfied. No matter how far you go, no matter how fast you run, you will never be satisfied, because you will never be satisfied with_ yourself _. And you will both_ burn. _And I am sorry. Farewell,_ nésanya _.”_

_The whisper of her robes and the fall of her footsteps was both too loud and too quiet in the darkness._

_Lalwendë put her head in her hands and willed herself not to cry as the night dragged on, colder than she had ever felt it before._

~

Their laughter turned to cries of horror as the battle dragged on.

The enemy forces were too great, and they were too tired, too broken and too disillusioned to fight for much longer. All around her, Lalwen saw her allies and kinsmen falling under the ferocious assault of what seemed to be a never-ending horde of _Yrch_ and beasts. The night was softly transitioning into day - or was it just the illumination of the everlasting fire? She knew not, and she could not spare a moment to look up.

Lalwen wielded her sword with a single-minded determination not to give up. She knew she was going to die. She knew that, and accepted that, because she knew what was to come after.

She would see Findis again.

She knew her end was near, but she would be damned if she did not take as many of Morgoth’s cursed spawn with her as she possibly could before her light went out.

_To burn out, not to fade away. Never to fade away._

Her helmet was long gone at that point, her face grimy and spattered with blood. The fire of bloodlust in her eyes shone as brightly as her Valinor-born body did, and she was terrible in her viciousness. She felt the _Yrch_ before her tremble and laughed with a broken sound of madness that she just _knew_ Findis would have hated and rolled her eyes at. That only made her laugh louder and more horribly, and she parried and struck and pushed all her strength into decimating as many beasts as she could.

A howl of pain too great pulled her out of her battle-madness. As she turned, skewering another _Orch_ in the process, she saw Gundor falling, his body broken and disappearing under a swarm of _Yrch_ that descended upon him. She knew this was how it would end, but she could not stop a tear escaping her as she stood still and mourned for a kind boy with a lovely smile for just a moment stolen in time.

Lalwen forgot; in a battle, a moment is all it takes.

She felt the first poisonous arrow pierce her flesh. She closed her eyes as she felt its effects advance upon her being immediately, the vileness spreading through her _hröa._ She knew she had very little time left. She felt the power in her gathering and concentrated all her mental strength on pulling on every shred of her _fëa_ and directing her _hröa_ most efficiently. This was it. This was the end.

_To burn out; never to fade away._

She opened her eyes, and they were _glowing_.

The _Yrch_ closest to her recoiled back, their faces grimaces of fear and confusion at the vision of her. They looked upon the sky, but the night was still dark, and the only light on the battlegrounds came from Balrogs’ fire.

From Balrogs’ fire, and from _Lalwendë_.

The second arrow pierced her as she turned towards them and _howled_.

The howl was heard all over the battlefield, and many a foe recoiled from the shrill sound of it and were consequently slain. The howl of Lalwendë Finwiel under the mountains of Ered Wethrin in the battle that would become known as _Dagor Bragollach_ was a thing of pain and frustration both, laden with iron of her regret, gold of her repentance and silver of her agony. It was the howl of centuries of misery and heartbreak and misunderstandings. It was the howl of unnumbered woes and uncontrollable rage and neverending resentment and unquantifiable passion. It was the howl of the fire Lalwendë was made of, and it _scorched_.

(Many a mile away, the High King Fingolfin would feel a pain in his heart so awful, he would reach for his son desperately to prevent falling off his horse. Fingon would turn to his Father and mistakenly think him struck by a stray arrow of their foes, for Ñolofinwë would look as if he were a step away from death.)

(Many a mile away, the High King Arafinwë would go pale in the throne room and fall down upon his throne, clutching at his heart desperately and hysterically as the courtiers panicked, for never had they seen an Elf collapse thusly, for all intents and purposes seemingly for no discernable reason.)

(Many a mile away, a muted echo of that howl would escape the throat of Findis Finwiel and still manage to terrify every being in its reach, be they Elves, Maia of Vala, as she collapses into the arms of her Mother, pale as the first light of dawn. She would wake up screaming and crying tears of grief and happiness both, for she would bear the knowledge that her stubborn, cursed, and above all _beloved_ sister was finally coming _home_.)

(Many a mile away, somewhere in the Nothing that was Everything, a Fire everlasting and everburning shuddered.)

She slayed the first _Yrch_ approaching easily with her sword, as they were blinded by the remnants of the Light of the Trees bursting forth from her. She decapitated first half of the second wave in their confusion over her visage and the strength of her Light, and the rest were trampled by the Men fighting close to her.

The third wave caught her when she was too slow to move forth, with their swords and arrows both.

There were not many of them; the beasts were cowards at their core, and many of them fled in opposite direction of her Light and were slain by her allies, but there were still enough of those who feared their despicable Master’s retribution more than an howling Elf-maiden, no matter how piercing and agonizing her Light nor how insane and ear-splitting her laughter.

There were enough of them to hit her body where her armor was weak; there were enough of them to pierce her skin with their nasty corrupted steel; there were enough of them to overwhelm her in numbers if not in power; there were enough of them to force her to her knees; there were enough of them to waver and step back when she turned her maniacal grin upon them.

She felt blood in her mouth spill over her lips; she felt every spot on her body where their blades and arrows pierced her; she felt the poison in her spread lightning-fast; but she felt their fear most of all, for she was still a beacon of Light; still shining brightly and blinding them; still upright even on her knees; still proud and unyielding; still burning with all the strength of her _fëa_ ; still the daughter and sister of Kings and Queens; still the proud Ñoldorin warrior-maiden; still laughing at their pathetic attempts to subdue her.

“Hear me now, filth of Morgoth’s!” She spat the words and blood at them both. “Hear what says Írimë Lalwendë Finwiel!”

Her voice was high and terrible, breaking halfway through and colored with every emotion she felt, and the _Yrch_ retreated another step back. She could almost see the commotion from behind their lines, but her eyelids were drooping, and she knew she was losing her strength too rapidly, and she wanted to say her piece. She wanted to have the final word, for she was _Fire_ and _Light_ and she would never, ever go quietly. She would never just fade away.

_“Tell that loathsome creature that he will never win!”_

She spat blood and bile on the ground, doubling over in excruciating pain and chuckled weakly when she thought what her sister would say. _‘So dramatic, Lalwen, always so dramatic’_ , probably. Or something along those lines. She felt happy when she realized that she could not wait to see her sister again. To see her lovely Findis look at her disapprovingly yet amusedly, tall and proud and oh so beautiful, and to finally hug her like she should have hugged her that last time they saw each other in Valinor, like she should have hugged her for every day she was alive, how she _will_ hug her the moment she sees her again and every day onwards, until the end of the world and beyond.

Lalwendë loved her sister more than anything in her life, and now she would finally get to see her again. All she had to do was die, and was that not _such an ironical manifestation of her character?_

She laughed at this thought, laughed at herself and at the world and at the irony, and then spared a thought to her brave brother Ñolo, so close and so far away, and to her noble brother Ingo, so far away and yet closer than ever, and she was laughing still even as she saw a huge shadow looming over her. She knew what was coming and gathered the last of her strength to look upon her doom, her last coherent thought going to her sister.

_I love you. I will see you soon._

An enormous Balrog stood before her, its fiery whip crackling, its jaw widened in a sneer designated to intimidate and cower any foe. As the Balrog raised its hand to deliver that final blow, her doom and her redemption, she only laughed harder.

Lalwendë feared no fire; Lalwendë was born of fire and raised in fire and _lived_ fire for the entirety of her life.

“He will _lose_ ,” she laughed, and the Balrog roared and struck.

Lalwendë Finwiel died in fire laughing at the inevitable defeat of Morgoth.

Lalwendë Finwiel was finally going home to her sister.

Lalwendë Finwiel was, and always will be, fire _itself_.

**Author's Note:**

> A glossary (for my sister, who will probably read this and be confused, bcs she is a heathen and knows nothing of the intricacies of Elven languages and I love her dearly for it):  
> nettë - little sister (Q)  
> Yrch - Orcs, plural (S)  
> Orch - Orc, singular (S)  
> nésa - sister (Q)  
> nésanya - sister-mine (Q)  
> nís - woman, girl (Q)  
> fëa - spirit, soul (Q)  
> hröa - body (Q)  
> ataressë - father-name (Q) (like, your mom gives you a name and your dad gives you a name and this is IMPORTANT bcs REASONS, listen J, all the elves have different names and if you're confused, just like, call me?)
> 
> Anyways, if I missed something, idk, let me know?
> 
> Also, my thanks for this goes to:  
> \- [storm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/profile), because she is a love and indulges my angst-fests and is all-around amazing;
> 
> -[fingonsradharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingonsradharp/profile) because she is extremely patient and an amazing support and a sweetheart;
> 
> \- [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/profile) because she is amazing and I would be NOWHERE without her Quenya Starter Pack and willingness to answer all the linguistic questions;
> 
> \- all the amazing people on the Discord server, because they are kind, and patient, and lovely, and interesting, and creative, and intelligent, and make me feel good whenever I think of the fandom.
> 
> P. S. [MY BFF5FOREVA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GWH/profile) does amazing art and is like, my fave. RLB <3
> 
> P. P. S. Any comments are revered and appreciated and LOVED!


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